


Out In The Cold

by Austalis



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - All Media Types
Genre: Bittersweet?, M/M, Or maybe just bitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Austalis/pseuds/Austalis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the TTSS kink meme prompt:</p><p>"Jim is in bed with another man, but he can't help but remember Bill's face, Bill's touch, Bill's soft voice.</p><p>The life of Jim Prideaux after Operation Testify fell apart. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You learned to read people, working for the Circus. It was one of the few things Jim had managed to bring with him. So when, up in the city for a day or two, Jim noticed the man in the bar giving him the eye, he knew what it meant. 

And Jim acquiesced. A flicker of eye contact, a brief nod; that was all it took. It wasn’t that he was lonely, per se. A man learned to cope with loneliness. He was, rather, hungry. Hungry for something his teaching, his memories and his hand had failed to satisfy. 

Jim’s hotel room was brown, dingy and basic. Neither he nor his visitor noticed. The man’s hands were on him, rippling across his torso, while Jim kissed him, fiercely, eyes closed.

And, just like that, he was back with Bill. 

Tweak his nipple through the shirt like this, kiss the curve of his neck like that. This was easy; this was familiar. Jim felt his body soften, the tension of the last few months drain from his limbs, leaving only the dull ache in his shoulder. He sighed gently across Bill’s skin; it was like finally coming home. 

Bill broke the moment, tugging insistently at his belt, making soft but urgent sounds. Jim complied, dragging him closer to grind against his thigh. Christ, but it felt good. Jim struggled with the buttons on their shirts, hands less deft than last time, as Bill’s hand closed around the base of his cock. Jim hissed, and pulled him towards the bed. 

***

A memory from years ago rose, unbidden, in his mind. It was the War, and they were only a few years out of Oxford, mercifully on leave at the same time. They sat at either end of a tiny sofa in Jim’s poky little flat, feet tangled companionably together. Jim smoked, and Bill read a newspaper, every so often stopping to exclaim aloud.

“Christ. Listen to this Jim,” he read aloud from a newspaper headline, “honestly. They’ll be calling the Americans gods next; they’ve called them every other name under the sun. As if the front line is all that ever matters. And they’re talking again about bloody welfare. The country can’t afford that, especially after this war, and even if it could it’d just encourage the lazy buggers.”

Jim mumbled an agreement. He knew little about politics, and less about American GIs; knew only that Bill was clever about these things, and that he, Jim, loved England. If Bill, who also loved England (and perhaps even, loved him) said it was so, then so it must be. 

Jim smiled. Things were easier during the war; more honourable, somehow; less morally dubious. He opened his eyes and drew a breath to make this observation to Bill. The stranger looked back at him. And, just like that, Bill was gone; Jim officially dead and all comfort from the encounter lost. He had been kicked out into the cold, and here he must dwell.

“Get out,” said Jim softly, threateningly.

“What?”

“Out!” bellowed Jim, allowing his rage to show on his face. The man- Jim never did learn his name- fled.


	2. Chapter 2

When Jim hears that it’s Bill who was the mole, Bill who betrayed them- him- to Karla, the knowledge doesn’t assail him like a blow, it doesn’t hit him like a ton of bricks, doesn’t, really rock him at all.

It’s not a shock, he realises, dully. It’s a revelation he’s been dreading ever since Smiley came to visit. 

He sits for some time, drinking vodka straight from the bottle- another habit brought with him from The Circus. He smokes, too, finds it calms the minute trembling in his limbs. He contemplates that: wonders, in a detached kind of way, whether that’s the betrayal, a flashback to Russian hospitality, or just the cold. It’s raining, and the windows and doors are shut against the damp. The smoky fug stings his eyes, but he doesn’t cry. It doesn’t even occur to him that he might cry.

Bill Roach lets himself in. Jim doesn’t notice him at first, but then Roach holds out a wooden object. A stand for polishing his shoes. He doesn’t have one. Jim sees the rough but careful crafting, the look in the eyes of Roach, and sees things for what they are. The hero-worship, the longing to please. Jim sees himself, as he was, in Roach. It’s too much.

“I don’t want you coming around here anymore,” his words are sharp, bitter.

“But-”

“Get out! Go and play!”

Roach flees like a kicked dog. Jim can’t bring himself to care. 

He goes back to thinking. When he comes around to the decision, it’s surprisingly easy to make. It’s not even very painful, and the hurt is an old would, like the pain in his shoulder. Constant. He realises that this decision too was made a long time ago. Perhaps it was made when he realised, whenever that had been. To admit it to himself is almost a relief. It’s an admission that this betrayal goes above and beyond Jim. It’s a betrayal of England.

And while Bill was his lover, England was his one true love. 

He thinks back to Oxford. Despite not growing up in England, Jim was a truly spectacular batsman. He spent his first year on the field, hardly bothering with school work or lectures, revelling in the simple company of other sportsmen, safe in the knowledge that they were young, healthy and had the world at their feet. He bumped into Bill one day, quite literally. It might never have happened, and how different his life would have been then. He was running late, rushing, stumbled and crashed into Bill. He’d asked to apologise by buying him a drink that evening, and had been quite blown away. 

Jim had seen Bill’s sort around before, of course, had laughed at them as “pseudo-intellectuals”, as swots, as pink with the other sports guys, but he’d never spoken to one. It was… enlightening. Invigorating. He’d never had to stretch his mind before, as well as his body. Bill was bright, intelligent, and seemed to enjoy spending time with Jim too. It had spiralled from there. 

Jim realises that his idea of Bill is mixed up with his idea of England. Separate them, and Bill lost a little of that gloss. Jim remembers him before he was the Bill Haydon, top of The Circus, Beloved by All. And back then, Bill was, above all, a man who wanted to make his mark. If that was how he was going to do it, well then, he’d better get on with it. 

And, with the same certainty, Jim knows what he has to do. He fetches his rifle- a security in case New Circus came knocking with less than friendly intentions- and gets in the Yarvis. He leaves the caravan unlocked, not sure he needs it to come back to. 

He knows where they’ll keep Bill, knows the security will be low. It’s not hard to get past the few sentries and up to the tree line. He sees Bill, standing outside. It’s a sniper’s dream, really. Short range, no crosswind, and a target just standing. Almost inviting.

For a second, just a second, he thinks Bill sees him, somehow recognises him, and even acknowledges him. Perhaps it’s a kind of permission. Perhaps it’s a kind of apology.

Jim pulls the trigger, and Bill just goes away.

**Author's Note:**

> I've only just noticed the shift in tense from chapter one to chapter two. This was because these were originally written as separate fics. However, I think it works, so I've left it in.


End file.
